


You, lost and lonely

by heroic_pants



Category: Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 11:32:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18207749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroic_pants/pseuds/heroic_pants
Summary: Three presents, three people important to Marcus Lopez Arguello, and the first birthday he's ever wanted to remember.





	You, lost and lonely

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic a long time ago at the beginning of the season, and I can't pretend that it's not canon divergent (even though originally it was supposed to just be a little way into the future but canon compliant) - if you need a mental marker, I'd say it diverges from about episode five or six. Tbh, I felt like I enjoyed the second half of the season way less than the first, and maybe the lightness of this is a reaction to the sort of edgelord darkness I felt the show increasingly slipped into without the lighter moments of the first half? Anyway, hope you still enjoy this.

“Why are you always listening to shit like this, man?” Willie cracks, throwing a screwed up ball of paper at him. 

 

They’ve been studying surprisingly quietly, with only a record on in the background. Not a loud one, though. The noise of it all out in the hallways, in classes, at lunch can be a lot, always having to be on guard - moments of quiet like this are rare, and therefore need to be respected. 

 

He picks up the ball and throws it back at him. “I don’t know, maybe because I like the Cure?”

 

Willie snorts. “You  _ need  _ a cure for liking this whiny shit.” 

 

Marcus rolls his eyes at his homework essay. “Look, just because they’re in touch with their emotions and you’re not…” he says with a smirk, and looks up to see if it had the desired effect. 

 

Willie rolls his eyes, and says, “Fuck off, man,” but he’s grinning as he does it. This is what they do, but he knows now that Willie doesn’t mean it, really, which means he can give it back without fearing a reaction that puts a gun in front of his face. 

 

He looks down at the homework they’re supposed to be completing for poison lab. 

 

“So, I think we need one more phytotoxin, and then we’ll have four and we can finish this stupid report,” he says, frowning at it. He’s kind of pleased to remember the word, the meaning of it, even though he knows he’s getting better at being a student again. It’s one way of telling that voice in his head, the one that says he’s just a moron and he’ll never catch up, to fuck all the way off. 

 

Willie groans. “Can’t we be finished now? Play some video games?” he offers, but picks up the textbook again anyway and studies it. 

 

“It’s just one more. We can do it.” He smiles to himself. “Then I can kick your ass in video games.” 

 

Willie laughs. “Unlikely, and also, is that cause you can’t do it in reality?” 

 

“And here I thought pacifism wasn’t a winning strategy in a fight,” he cracks, but drops his voice a little. 

 

Willie makes a  _ pfft  _ noise, and looks at the book again. “Alright, smartass, first we gotta find the last one. Then we’ll see who’s kicking who’s ass around here…” 

 

He chuckles.

 

***

“Keep on your guard!” Saya scolds, sweeping his legs with the stick and knocking him flat. 

 

They’re practising single-stick fighting methods together, although thankfully the gym is empty. Less chances for his other charming classmates to laugh at his ineptitude. 

 

He takes a second to get up again. Being around her somehow always feels like this, off his guard and a little embarrassed, always a little wrong-footed. She never gets the moves wrong. It’s hard for him to believe she wasn’t born with the ability to move and strike her prey as fluidly, and brutally as anything in nature. 

 

She rolls her eyes, but offers him a hand with the barest, slightest hint of a smile. Somehow, despite her mysterious, sometimes doubtfully trustworthy personality and her general “fuck off” demeanour, somehow they’re friends. Or something like that. 

 

He gets up immediately, and he realises she hasn’t let go of his hand. She seems to realise a second later, because she drops it quickly but doesn’t let her expression show anything. 

 

“You doing anything special this weekend?” she asks, as they're putting the sticks away.

 

She's not usually one for idle small talk,and it makes him suspicious.

 

“No, why would - would I?” he gets out awkwardly. She gives him a look like he's started speaking in tongues, and this is embarrassing her.

 

“You have a point there,” she cracks. 

 

“Well what are your amazing plans, then?” he retorts.

 

“Catch up on some reading? Maria wants to drag me out to something. A restaurant? I think? She swears she's actually found the best Mexican place in SF now.” Saya replies, like it’s a hassle, but with the smallest quirk of lips. 

 

He thinks she doesn't actually mind being dragged out to wild, fun or delicious adventures with Maria. It's hard not to have fun with her, she's so magnetic.

 

“Are you sure? I know she's been burned before,” he says, with a smile.

 

He actually sees Saya’s smile widen for a moment at this, before she tamps down. “What do I know about authentic Mexican food?” she drawls.

 

He grins. “Point taken, I’ll have to ask her about it.“

 

***

He doesn’t actually have plans for Saturday. If he could though, he’d skip this one whole. 

 

Maybe it’s not too late to find some alcohol - there are always ways around the rules here - and just...drink in his room? Alone? 

 

Fuck, that’s a bleak Saturday night. 

 

Although, he reminds himself, he’s been through worse. And that wasn’t usually limited to a single Saturday.

 

Anyway, hopefully Shabnam will be out of the room for the night. He doesn’t feel much like explaining it to him. Maybe he can lure him away. Maybe he can say Brandy wants to meet him secretly...no, that’s too mean. 

 

Besides, she is an actual Nazi, so. 

 

***

 

Saturday morning, he gets a knock on the door.

 

He groans into his pillow, having not planned to wake up till at least eleven, when the radio alarm clock is blinking 8:43am. 

 

He ignores it, and the knock comes again, louder and more exuberant. 

 

A pillow hits him in the face, no doubt launched from Shabnam’s end of the room. 

 

“Fine, I’m getting up, jeez,” he grumbles, slowly shifting to a sitting position, yawning, and shuffling to the door. 

 

He opens it, unprepared to see a grinning Maria on the other side. 

 

“What’re you -” he attempts, but she cuts him off. 

 

“You need to put some clothes on if we’re going out,” she says, matter-of-factly. 

 

He looks at her groggily. “We’re not going out anywhere?”

 

She laughs. “Of course we are, silly. We’re going out for pancakes. Come on, we don’t want to miss breakfast, I think it finishes at 10:30 at that place Saya and I found? You liked it, that time?” 

 

He looks at her, a edge of panic to his thoughts suddenly. But it’s not - she doesn’t seem manic, not like she used to get, that first year. She’s keeping up with her meds. Just goal-oriented, like she really wants to get him out to this diner, or wherever. 

 

“Come on, please?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at him winningly. He knows that trick well and yet he falls for it everytime. 

 

“Just say yes, god!” comes Shabnam’s sleepy, disgruntled agreement. 

 

He can’t help smiling a little. “Ok, seems like I’ve got no choice. Give me five minutes.”

 

She laughs. “Yes!”

 

***

 

It’s weird how different it’s become, in a year. Back then they couldn’t even really talk to each other outside class. Now, since the deal they brokered with the cartel, they can do something like this. It would be have been unfathomable when they were actually dating. But then again, remaining as close as they are after they stopped would have been unfathomable to him at the time. 

 

Not that he feels like he’s completely over it. But it’s definitely - complicated, with him - which is why they ended things. Well, that and everything else that happened at the time. 

 

“So were you just desperate for some pancakes?” he asks her, when they’re finally seated and eating. 

 

Maria looks at the stack on her plate in confusion, then laughs. “Maybe.”

 

She looks at him, and it’s a look that always off-balances him. No one else looks at him with such naked empathy, not without disguising it in teasing or disdain. 

 

She takes his hand in hers, across the table. “You know you mean a lot to me, ok?” she says, smiling. 

 

_ Complicated.  _ He nods awkwardly. “What’s - what’s the occasion?” he asks. Trying to play it cool, because, how would she even know?

 

She shakes her head, and pulls a small package from her bag. “Happy birthday, Marcus.” 

 

He takes the package in a kind of state of shock. After a moment, he manages to ask, “How did you find out?” 

 

“I charmed a clerk at the Births, Deaths and Marriages office that had a copy of your original birth certificate. She really was a sweet old lady,” Maria says, nonchalantly.

 

After he finds his voice again, he says, “I’d...expect nothing less from you,” and laughs weakly. 

 

She smiles affectionately at him. “Open it, open it!” she urges him, excitedly. 

 

It’s a square-shape, smallish, and wrapped neatly in brown paper. It’s probably a book, but he’s not about to complain about that. He can’t think of the last time he received a present, really, for his birthday. For anything. 

 

He tries to force down the lump in his throat. He’s  _ not  _ going to cry in this diner. 

 

He makes himself unwrap it, hoping his hands aren’t noticeably shaking. 

 

It’s an old book, but in good shape. The title cover reads,  _ Collected Short Stories and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe.  _ The cover design points to it being twenty or thirty years old, but it feels new. 

 

He looks at her speechlessly. 

 

Her eyes are glistening somewhat. She blinks. “So I was just browsing that second-hand bookstore I’m obsessed with, and I found that and thought you’d be into it.”

 

He nods fervently. 

 

“Actually, Petra helped. She said you really liked The Tell-tale Heart and other stories when she lent it to you, and I remembered that when I saw this. I’m sorry it’s so old though, they didn’t have anything much newer,” she continues, sounding a little nervous. 

 

He looks up. “No, no, it’s...it’s so great. This is amazing, Maria.” 

 

It’s more than that. But he can’t quite find the words to say what it means. 

 

She smiles at him. “I figured we didn’t get to do anything for your birthday last year because none of us knew it, and I think actually, that it was before we met, so, unavoidable. But happy birthday for this one, Marcus.” 

 

He shakes his head. “Surprisingly, it is.” 

 

***

 

The comic-store job has always been a welcome reprieve. When he’s here, when it’s just him and Willie stocking things and helping customers with questions about what to go for first (and getting into the same, easy arguments about indie comics vs mainstream, the kind they’ve had so many times there’s no real bite in them anymore) it’s different. It feels like they could be two normal teens, with both their parents living, and a normal high school, and the normal amount of teenage trauma that would provide. 

 

But then, he doesn’t know if they’d be friends. Sure they belong to different groups at school, but the lines on that have relaxed somewhat, after everything that happened first year. Willie would almost certainly be popular, probably a football star-type. 

 

He’d probably still be a loner, maybe an artsier one, or a nerdier one, but either way their paths wouldn’t cross. 

 

The thought - even the hypothetical - makes him sad, and then he feels dumb. But as probably unhealthy as a friendship that starts with violent threats and murder is, he can’t say he’s not grateful for it.

 

It’s different between three of his friends: Maria is warm, caring, dramatic; Saya is dismissive, snarky, but the smallest affection from her means so much, because you know what it means to her. Willie is fun, calm, knows how to just hang out in a comfortable silence. 

 

The store is pretty quiet today, with only one kid browsing the shelves. 

 

Marcus watches him for a moment, and sees him look at his watch, look longingly at the new Wolverine comic, put it back and hurry out. 

 

He looks over at the counter where Willie is working, and realises he was watching them. Willie looks away instantly. He looks at something seemingly below the counter, and doesn’t move for a moment. He looks - confused - or conflicted, or something like that. 

 

“What?” he asks, and Willie looks up, grinning, only a little awkwardly. 

 

“What?” Willie replies. 

 

“Something’s up with you?” Marcus continues. 

 

Willie shakes his head. “Nah man. I’m fine.” 

 

Marcus shakes his head. “Ok, sure.” 

 

A few minutes later though, Willie walks over and pushes a thin, square wrapped present over the top of the books Marcus is sorting. 

 

Even just seeing the present, without knowing what it is makes his heart jump, like it did earlier this morning when Maria presented him that small, brown-wrapped gift. It’s here in front of him, and yet it’s hard to believe someone is going to give him his second present of the day. That just doesn’t happen. Not to him. And not from people he cares about. 

 

He looks up, and Willie is trying to seem casual as he shuffles the comic books beside him.

 

“How did you - Maria, right,” he realises, trying not to sound like there’s a familiar lump rising in his throat. It’s cool. Just talking about one of the only presents you’ve ever got in your life since your parents died. And it’s from Willie, who probably spent money on it, and it’s not like this place even pays them that much. It’s fine. 

 

Willie smiles, doesn’t look up though. “Maria,” he says quietly. “She thought I might want to know.” 

 

Marcus nods, finding that safer if he ever wants to keep what little cred he has. 

 

“Well? Aren’t you gonna open it?” Willie says, suddenly looking up at him, half-smiling. 

 

Marcus nods again, finding himself smiling. “Yeah, ok, I’m getting there.” 

 

He pulls the wrapping paper off to find a record with a red cover - or rather, a red lip, zoomed in close to the camera. His heart jolts, realising what it is. 

 

“This is a whole new album, you shouldn’t have...how much did this….” he tries to say, his words getting lost everytime he looks at it. He looks up. “I don’t - you didn’t have to do this, Willie.” 

 

Willie rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Or you could just thank me,”

 

He nods. “Thanks. This is - so cool.” 

 

Willie smiles, genuinely, and doesn’t say anything. He looks like the carefree, football playing teen he might have been, for a moment. Then he sort of shakes himself slightly, and says, “Well, I thought I may as well feed into this obsession with The Cure if I can’t stop it.” 

 

He laughs. “Can I put it on?” 

 

Willie nods, grinning. 

 

It’s instantly beautiful, not that he’s surprised. 

 

_ Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick, the one that makes me scream.  _

He bops along to it, making fun of himself, and Willie nods his head along concessionally, laughing. 

 

_ Why are you so far away she said, why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you?  _

 

Willie stiffens slightly, next to him. 

 

In an attempt to act normally, they continue sorting. Willie’s hand bumps his, as it often has in the past, except this time they spring back, uncomfortably hyper aware of their current closeness. 

 

The song continues, and they don’t say anything. 

 

_ You soft and only, you lost and lonely _

 

Marcus makes a sound like throat-clearing but doesn’t say anything. Then, after a moment, quietly.

 

“I’ll fuckin - well, I’ll think of something if this leaves the store but - that kinda reminds me of you. I heard the song, and found out they had a new album. That last line...lost and lonely.”

 

_ Soft and only, too _ ? He wonders. Wants to say it out loud, just to see his reaction.

 

He swallows, not trusting himself. “Not so much anymore. Thanks, in a big way to you.” 

 

Willie doesn’t say anything, shuffles around the same comic books he’s been working on since they put the song on. “Thanks to you, too, man. I didn’t really - my friends weren’t really. Friends. Not like the girls, or Billy or,” he starts quietly, surprising Marcus with his straightforwardness. “Or you,” he finishes, and coughs.

 

It’s not just that his friends are all from a school that trains them to be hard, and close themselves off from emotional attachment. It’s not just that more than most of them have seriously fucked up issues and trauma, and don’t always react like normal kids might. It’s that Marcus has always pretended to care way less than he does. He can’t help but want to comfort, reach out in his affection. But knowing who that’s appropriate with, who would want that, that’s the minefield - Maria, generally; Billy, always; Petra, never; Saya, almost never, depending on how close their latest shave was, or how drunk she is. And Willie is one of the hardest to read - his attitude is generally ‘touch me and I’ll fuck you up’, in public anyway, but sometimes he can feel such strong affection from him - and yet there’s always something, slightly in the way, that stops him from reaching out. It’s contained to a smile, a look, a feeling. 

 

This is one time Marcus wants to be able to reach out, just so he can react to that, without having to say anything. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know that Willie wants him to say anything in reply. 

 

He looks down at the books they’re supposed to be sorting, and slowly, very slowly, as if he has some kind of alien hand syndrome, moves his hand closer to Willie’s, so that their little fingers are only slightly, but definitely touching.

 

Willie doesn’t move his hand away. Until of course, the bell rings, signifying a new customer in the store. 

 

***

 

“I’ve got the best new shit, you’ve gotta see them,” Billy keeps saying excitedly, that night, as Marcus follows him.

 

“I’m not really feeling in the mood to see more of your fireworks -” he tries. 

 

“Nonsense, you’ll love it!” Billy dismisses, exuberantly. 

 

“Wanna bet?” he mutters.

 

“You’ll lose,” Billy sing-songs.

 

He supposes that hanging out setting off illegal fireworks with Billy, and maybe Lex, is less depressing than what he had planned. But right now it’s hard to be that excited about it. 

 

They reach the door to the rooftop, and Billy goes, “After you,” in a strange, jokey way that he puts down to being just a Billy thing.

 

And then he steps through and Maria, and a fair amount of people yell “Happy Birthday!” and he stops dead.

 

Maria steps forward. “Look it’s probably not a great idea to surprise an assassin in training, I know, but I’ve never gotten to throw a surprise party!” she says, laughing. Her smile falters a little looking at him. 

 

“You like it?” she asks, sounding a little worried. 

 

Heroically managing to not let on the Mack truck of emotions - that even the thought of this party being thrown for him  _ by friends _ \- gives him, he smiles widely, genuinely, and Maria beams.

 

“This is...FUCKING AMAZING!” he calls, and Maria and the crowd cheer. 

***

 

Saya finds him after Billy’s gone to chase after Petra. Viktor’s here, as well for some reason, and he last seemed to be talking with Petra,  although Marcus can’t see him now from where he is. Or any of them, really. Whatever’s going on there, he doesn’t know. But he’s not judging.

 

He does know Petra would be annoyed to miss INXS, and wonders if she had a hand in picking the music.

 

_ I’ve got to let you know, you’re one of my kind.  _

 

“Y’know, I don’t go out of my way to listen to this kind of stuff, but this riff is pretty great,” Saya says casually, with a small smile. 

 

He smiles at seeing her. “So much for finding Mexican restaurants with Maria!” he jokes. “Wait, does that make my birthday the best Mexican restaurant in SF? Because that is  _ bad news  _ for the city.” 

 

She rolls her eyes, as usual, but bestows a less-usual smile on him. 

 

“Cmon, step away from the music for a second,” she says matter-of-factly, and turns and walks off, with him following behind quickly. 

 

Stepping into a less crowded area of the roof, she picks up something small stowed by the railing wall, and hands it to him. “It’s not a big deal so don’t freak out,” she says. 

 

It’s brown-wrapped again, small and thin. His heart misses a step, and he has to take a weird breath.

 

This can’t be his third present today can it? From Saya? 

 

It’s starting to feel worryingly like dreams he sometimes had in the boys home. He’d dream that he was out, normal life, with his parents still alive, and a normal group of friends - not even that he was particularly popular or wealthy, just what every other average teenager in America took for granted every day. He’d dream that he had to get to a party they’d organised, that they were waiting for him, and he always,  _ always,  _ woke up before he opened the door. And then he was back in that place, waiting for whatever fresh horror Chester or the old bitch were going to put him through that day. 

 

He’s seen a lot of horrifying shit here, too, to be fair. But this is the only place he’s ever actually felt valued. It’s been enough time that he’s started to accept it. But he still really doesn’t want to wake up. 

 

“Hello Marcus?” Saya calls, breaking into his revery. “Open it.”

 

He nods quickly and smiles at her. She looks unimpressed, but he’s learnt to read what her eyes are saying for the truth, and they look happy.

 

He unwraps it. In it is a 12’’ single, black with no text on the cover, and a design of weird shaped holes that almost makes it look like one of those big computer disks he’s seen maybe once on television, or in a store somewhere. 

 

“What?” he gasps, excited. “I can’t - you got me Blue Monday?” 

 

He shakes his head, still quite unable to process this strange procession of gifts. Like, and especially ones that people have put thought and maybe even emotion into. For him.

 

He looks at her, and can’t quite think of the right thing to say. He ends up with, “You didn’t need too..” before trailing off weakly. 

 

Saya gives him a look. “I know I didn’t. I just found it in the record store while I was looking for other records, and I know you’re into that moody New Wave shit. It’s not a big deal,” she finishes nonchalantly, as if daring him to disagree with her. 

 

He nods, still holding the record tightly. “No, of course not.”

 

He looks down at it. “Actually, no, it is. This is like, one of my favourite songs. I know you don’t want me to make a big deal but I have to.”

 

He looks back at her and is surprised to see her smile. “Well, whatever. That one’s pretty fucking good. And I figured you didn’t have a lot of records yet anyway.” 

 

“No,” he says, not looking away yet. “Thank you.” 

 

She doesn’t look away. “It’s - no problem. Friends, right?” she says, and he really wants to believe she’s daring him to disagree this time. Neither of them says anything.

 

If he could just - touch her. Even her hand - maybe she’d know. But maybe not. Either way, he knows not to do that. Not right now, anyway. 

 

The moment ends, and he agrees. “Friends.”

 

She nods, but her eyes are unreadable. 

 

“I still can’t believe I got two records today,” he says, realising it again. 

 

“Two? Who beat me to the punch?” she asks, and she sounds like she’s joking, but also a little not.

 

“Willie,” he says, surprised by how caught off guard he was by the question. 

 

She smiles and nods. “He’d know. What you like,” she says, and it’s only till after she’s gone to get more drinks for them that he realises she might not have just meant about records. 

 

***

 

Dancing a party full of drunk teenagers is exactly the sort of thing he’s set himself against in the past. It’s so cliche, and teenagers are terrible, and drunk teens are worse. He would have thought all of this maybe a little because it was true, but mostly so he didn’t need to miss the kind of normal teen life he’d never have. 

 

Surprisingly though, when you  _ are  _ a drunk teen, and so are all your friends, it doesn’t seem so bad. 

 

Also, worryingly, his tolerance for any kind of poppy dance music goes up the more he drinks. Any more, and he may find himself dancing - or worse -  _ not hating  _ \- that A-Ha song.  _ A-Ha! _

 

Maria’s dragged him into dancing to these things, but he’s not hating it. 

 

Everyone’s at the stage of drunken where they’re singing the choruses obnoxiously loud and off-key.

 

“DON’T YOU WANT ME BAAAABBBYYY, DON’T YOU WANT ME OOOOOHHHHH,” Maria and him sing, atrociously, but drowned out by everyone else around them. 

 

He sometimes wishes it hadn’t got so complicated for them. She’s beautiful, obviously, but more than that, she’s fun. And she cares a lot, about him and all their friends. When it was good with them, it was good - but the problem is when it was bad, it was so much worse. And there’s no time that he can think of when it was all good. All of it was mixed in with terror, and murder, and jealousy and mental health dramas.

 

They’re friends now, obviously. But it’s a little more complicated with them. 

 

The song finishes, and Maria says loudly, “I need some air or something,” and he follows her, agreeing that he does too.

 

They find a quieter spot by one the mid-walls of the roof, and look out over the city. 

 

“You know everytime I think I’m sick of this city, then I see it from this angle, and I forget what made me angry in the first place?” Maria says, smiling, a little wistfully. 

 

He nods. “I used to hate this city. The whole country, to be honest. You know about that.” 

 

She nods, understanding and past anxieties flitting briefly across her expression. It would have been unfair to her to say she was the only one with the mental health issues in their relationship. 

 

He shrugs. “But now - it’s the only place with anyone who likes me, so...I guess I have to like it now.” 

 

She laughs. “You sound thrilled.”

 

He laughs too, a little. “I am. Just not...good at showing it.” 

 

She chuckles. “I know.” 

 

A new song starts, and Maria’s eyes widen in excitement. 

 

“Oh, I love this one!” she says. 

 

He laughs. “I remember.”

 

She smiles at him, widely, and grabs his hand. “You have to dance with me!” 

 

He tries, half-heartedly, to protest that he’s already done so but she’s already pulling him out to the dancefloor. 

 

_ “Her hair is Harlow gold, her lips sweet surprise,”  _ Maria sings, with the ease of someone who’s done it many times before. 

 

He smiles at her. 

 

“ _ She'll turn the music on you, You won't have to think twice, _ ” she continues, beaming. 

 

She stops singing to ask him something. “So, have you had a good birthday?” 

 

He laughs. “Not hard in comparison, Maria.” 

 

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “C’mon are you having fun, Marcus? Did I do well with the party?”

 

“YES!”  He laughs again. “This is so great! Until the next horrifying thing happens, but I’m not thinking about that tonight.” 

 

She laughs, shaking her head, and kisses him. It’s very brief, but it catches him well and truly off guard. 

 

“What was that for?” he asks, surprised. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to do anything or get back together. I just wanted to wish you happy birthday.  _ Feliz cumpleaños,  _ Marcus,” she says, affectionately. 

 

A while ago, he might have been worried that something like this was a sign she wasn’t taking her medication, that she was in a manic phase, but this doesn’t seem like that. Maybe it’s even just her way of acknowledging their past.

 

“Thanks, Maria. I really appreciate it,” he says, honestly. 

 

***   
  


From his vantage point on the side of the roof, he smiles as he watches Billy, Petra and suprisingly (or maybe, not so surprisingly) Viktor dancing to that German song about the balloons. Viktor seems, firstly: like everyone else, to be very drunk (and at his height, and weight, he shudders to think how much he’s had to drink tonight to get to that point) and secondly: to know all the words to the song and be singing along to them, and even stranger, Petra and Billy don’t seem to be trying to disown him for this, but are genuinely smiling, and dancing.

 

He’s moved out of the way of the dancers again. Taking a moment to breathe, to watch. Weirdly, he realises, he feels almost - peaceful. In this place. With these people. Ridiculous.

 

He lights up a cigarette, and turns to look out over the city. 

 

“Light?” someone asks slowly, next to him. He turns to see Saya, cigarette in her hand, holding it out impatiently. He lights it. 

 

She’s drunker than the last time he saw her. But to be fair, so is he. 

 

She smiles at him. “Enjoying your party, man?” she says, in an exaggerated bro-voice. 

 

He grins. “Yeah, actually.” 

 

“I’d say I hate this song, but unfortunately it’s actually great to dance to,” she says, ruefully. 

 

He laughs. “I wanna make fun of you so bad, but I danced to  _ Take On Me  _ before, so I have no credibility now.” 

 

She laughs. “Oh that’s so funny. God if that fucking song isn’t catchy though. Ugh.” 

 

He laughs. “Yep.” 

 

She looks at him slyly. “You and Maria sure looked like you were having fun together.” She doesn’t even say it in a catty way, just like something she’s observed casually.  

 

He gives her a look. “Not that it matters, but nothing’s going on with us. We’re better as friends, anyway.”

 

She shrugs. “I know she can look after herself, I just worry about her.”

 

He chuckles, in mock-offense. “You don’t worry about me?”

 

Saya looks at him. “I never worry about you, obviously.” 

 

He looks back at her and wants to say something. Or do something. Instead, he stubs out his cigarette. 

 

Whatever’s between them has always been complicated, and it’s always been a mess. Everytime one of them tries to do something about it, it has never gone well. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong crisis they find themselves involved in. 

 

He realises the kid Maria has got on DJing is playing her present to him. 

 

_ Tell me, how do I feel? _

_ Tell me now, how should I feel?” _

“He actually put it on for me, cool,” he says, momentarily distracted. 

“You asked them to?” Saya says, slurring a little. Her expression is a little surprised, a little hard to read. She turns away, to blow out smoke, and stubs her cigarette.

“Of course,” he replies, surprised too. “It’s one of my favourites. And you got it for me, so,” 

She’s very close to his face, looking at him in the sort of sad, ever so slightly vulnerable way that he only sees when she’s very drunk and he’s very close. He wants to kiss her. But if he’s wrong about this, she could be liable to stab him with that very sharp sword of hers. 

“God, Marcus…” she trails off, and then leans into his face and kisses him. 

He pulls back, after a few moments. “What...is going on tonight,” he says, mostly to himself. 

She smiles and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“I just -” he stops, and starts again. “I didn’t think you wanted this.” 

She looks at him, almost kind of pained. “I really don’t know what I want. And I don’t want to lose this -” she gestures vaguely between them. “For this. I’m - sorry.” 

He takes her hand tentatively. She looks a little wary, but allows it. 

“I’m not. But you’re my friend. It’s a weird, sort of fucked up friendship between two weird, fucked up people, but it’s ours and if you’re not ready, that’s ok,” he says, seriously. 

She smiles at him, slowly. “You know, you talk a lot of shit, but sometimes you’re very deep, Marcus.” 

He chuckles. “Yeah thanks. Usually you only tell me the first part.”

She laughs. 

“To be honest, I don’t know that I can deal with being in a relationship either. With anyone,” he admits, quietly. 

“Amen to that,” she says, with a wry smile. She looks at him. “Happy birthday, anyway.”

He nods, smiling. “Thanks. I actually wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. Which is weird, but whatever.”

She squeezes his hand. 

 

***

 

He’s going back to his to room to get something, and then he totally plans to go back up to the party, until he sees someone in the stairwell. 

 

Willie’s sitting on one of the lower steps, nursing an entire bottle of what looks like rum. 

 

“Hey, Willie. You good?” he asks, still half-laughing, kind of giddy from the party.

 

Willie looks around at him, and smiles widely. Seems like he’s just as drunk as anyone from the party. “Marcus! My man. Birthday man. Happy birthday man.” He giggles. 

 

Something occurs to him, even as drunk as he is himself right now. “Wait -- you don’t usually drink, dude. And if you do...not this much.” 

 

Willie looks at him sideways and shrugs. “Why not?”

 

He lowers himself into the stair next to Willie, gingerly, very much hoping he’s not going to throw up. 

 

“Seemed like you were having fun earlier,” Marcus tries. 

 

Willie grins to himself. “Seemed like you were, man.”

 

“Yeah I was…” he says, trying to figure out why the comment seems so specific. 

 

“So it’s Maria vs Saya again, is it?” Willie asks, and he’s smiling but his voice comes out a little strained. 

 

He’s taken aback for a moment, then realises that he kissed them both fairly publicly. Or they kissed him, to be fair. 

 

“No. Yes. No, it’s not like that anymore, you know that,” he says, wishing suddenly that he wasn’t so drunk. 

 

“Right.” Willie seems unconvinced. 

 

For some reason, he feels the need to explain it more. 

 

“No it’s like - Maria’s always been affectionate. She wasn’t trying to like - get back with me. We’re just friends, and I can’t believe I have to explain that again.” 

 

Willie takes another swig of the rum. Marcus sighs. “And the Saya thing - I don’t know. It’s too complicated. She doesn’t want a thing with me. Maybe anyone.” 

 

Willie nods. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

Marcus frowns, feeling his good mood dissipating a little. “You asked.” 

 

“Shouldn’t have.” He shakes his head. “Whatever.” 

 

Marcus glares down at his feet, and sees Willie’s hand resting on the step. It reminds him of something, earlier. 

 

“Can I have some?” he asks, holding his hand out for the bottle. 

 

Willie hands it over. He takes a big swig. It burns. He swallows again, even though only the taste remains in his mouth. 

 

“What was the record you got for me today?” he asks quickly, before he loses his nerve. 

 

Willie looks at him, completely mystified. “What the fuck man, don’t you know that?” 

 

He presses on. “I’ve forgotten. Remind me what it was called?.”

 

Willie shakes his head, and looks suspicious. “Uh...It was something like...Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me…” he says slowly, totally puzzled.

 

He looks at Willie. “Well, if you insist.” 

 

Willie’s eyes widen but he doesn’t move back. So Marcus moves forward, and for the first time tonight, kisses first.

 

Willie doesn’t pull back for a while. 

 

When he does, he rests his forehead against Marcus’. “I really hope you remember that in morning, because I don’t think I’d have the balls to do that again sober.”

 

Willie laughs softly. “I know I should care if there’s someone in the hallway, or at the top of the stairs, but I - I don’t give a fuck right now.”

 

Marcus laughs. “Agreed.” 

 

They can hear the distant strains of a new song playing at the party, and Marcus is pleasantly surprised to realise what it is.

 

“Aw, I forgot I asked him to play this. I thought he wasn’t going to,” he muses happily. 

 

Willie grins, recognising it. “Glad you did, man. I think I might be starting to like this wack-ass music.”

 

Marcus laughs.

 

_ You soft and only _

_ You lost and lonely _

_ You are just like heaven _


End file.
